


the between

by starvels (dinosaur)



Category: Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Identity Porn, Kissing, Lovecraftian Monster(s), Other, Pining, Transgender Character(s), Transhumanism, just a lil bit just a smidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 06:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaur/pseuds/starvels
Summary: Steve's an Icarus success and Tony's just the guy in a suit blinded for staring too long, longing too hard.





	the between

**Author's Note:**

> written for a prompt challenge i'm doing: whispering wind. inspired a bit by the super cool [miskatonic project ficlet by copperbadge](http://copperbadge.tumblr.com/post/161830001546/captain-steve-rogers-lovecraftian-horror) defs! but wanted instead to explore the plurality of steve as a they and how early canon tony could interact with them, there, in the suit and out.

 

 

It’s always a little pinprick.

“Will someone drop me into the plaza?” Clint asks, breathing too hard into the comms and before Tony can say, _yeah_ , Steve’s there.

“On it,” the wind whistles as Steve takes a deep spiral dive to get to Clint faster.

Tony may be in the suit but Steve’s better suited for it, really. Flesh and bone breaks too easily against the metal of Tony’s hands.

“I’ll clean up this line,” Tony says, too quietly.

There’s only a grunt in response. The both of them already back in the thick of it.

Steve’s not better at air retrieval, Tony tries to remind himself, its just different.

Steve just came out of Rebirth born anew, is all. Wings clawing out of back muscles, body too large to be so sinuous, eyes too deep to hold a singular consciousness. Steve came out of Rebirth as something _other_ and more and they’re them now, is all.

Tony’s been on plenty of different teams with people that had part of his subset of skills. It’s not that.

It’s that Tony can’t help watching Steve fly and every single time, every goddamn time, he has to tear his eyes away.

It’s that the air crackles behind Steve like it’s trying to escape the sweep of their wings. It’s that sharp slice of envyadmirationbreathless _want_ Tony feels when Steve acts like they were made to be in the sky, and Tony’s just a visitor.

It’s just a pinprick and Tony’s never been so good at the whole, don’t-touch-what-hurts-you thing.

He sits on the roof, later, whiskey one-too-many in hand, watching as the city cleans up. Inside, the team is eating. Out here, Tony’s just Mr. Stark, financier, Avenger out of honorary pity, business man with no business thinking about Steve Rogers.

“Mr Stark,” a voice says and Tony just closes his eyes and sighs out.

“Hello,” Tony says, too brightly.

A pause.

There’s a sound like space shuffling, things too big to fit on the roof, clicking neatly into place.

Tony grits his teeth into his glass, spine prickling.

“It’s spaghetti night,” Steve says.

“I smelled, yeah.”

“You could join the team for it.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got,” Tony takes a swallow, “too much work, really.”

“Really.”

“Really.”

Steve hums and it sounds like it reverbs against something stone, echoes against bone.

Tony licks his lip.

“I think the team would appreciate seeing,” Steve pauses, and Tony can almost feel the heat of them against his back. So close. _Dangerous_ , his mind insists. _Warm_ , his body whispers back, _hot, burning._ _For me!_ , his heart cries. He shakes himself. “You,” Steve finishes, almost touching Tony.

He sighs out so long he feels lightheaded.

“It’s better if I –“

“Is it?”

“Don’t get too involved –“

“At all, you mean?”

Tony rolls the next sip over his tongue. Hopes the whiskey starts to numb him soon.

The whisper of Steve from behind him is too – much.

“Better,” he whispers again.

There’s a sound, like Steve scoffing, like them scuffing disbelief against the rough roof, rolling the resulting gravel against Tony’s nerves.

Tony purses his lips and doesn’t say what he could, what he should, what he does with any other goddamn person – _Iron Man will be down for movie night tomorrow._ Because, here’s a dance they won’t go beyond setting up their starting positions for.

Iron Man, flying, lying in the first position, trying to keep his story afloat.

Steve, breathing down the suit’s neck one cloud over, reading the taste of Tony off the skips of the wind, curling their tongue over their teeth, watching – waiting for the moment Iron Man presses down on the next track.

Copper, against their tongues.

Two cents, for what it’s worth, bright shiny new, honest truth to set free, but the buy-in for this table is too steep, even for Tony Stark.

He shakes his head and the weight between his shoulders eases.

They’re like that for too long. Tony drinks his way down to the ends of the glass, the warmth of his own backwash and the sun sets to fade between the talons of buildings.

“It’s really okay, Steve,“ Tony says, catching himself on the syllable of Steve’s name like it’s a forged metal.

Silence. A sound, too slick for. Like Steve, rolling this over their tongue, sphinx big and deciding Tony’s fate –

“We like you,” Steve says, exhales, echoes, really and Tony can’t imagine for a second they’re talking about the team. No, this, this is just –

 _Steve_.

Pinpricks.

Tony bites down on his tongue, nearly cuts his lip bringing the glass up too hard. He will not ask why, he will not ask why, he will not beg –

Fingers brush the edge of Tony’s jaw. He swallows like choking and the fingers press the glass down. Tony moves his hand slowly, as all feeling in his body coalesces; moment too heavy to breathe around. No maybe, maybe that’s the air – it’s, thinning, somehow, something pressing it out sideways as if pushed.

There, behind him, the heat of Steve eases in its place, settles against Tony’s back like the sun.

Tony’s eyes shutter closed.

He makes a small sound, involuntary.

A murmur, in return.

Just noises, comfort made subvocal.

Steve’s hand settles around Tony’s neck. Their knee drops down to bracket Tony’s side. Air skitters out of Tony’s lungs and Steve’s fingers curl around the edge of Tony’s jaw. Rough calloused, smooth worn, they tease against edge of Tony’s mouth before pushing – tilting Tony’s backwards, neck bared, heart thundering.

Steve’s hand flexes once, holding both of them in the pose, but giving this, free, free for Tony to get free. Their gaze feels like a sunburn, like the air cutting Tony’s skin in freefall, like judgement.

 _Please,_ Tony thinks, _please, please please_ –

When Steve presses their lips to Tony it sears, burns, ignites, rushes the blood in Tony’s body impact-hard to the places Steve is laying them together. He shakes. He gives himself over.

Under Steve’s pointed teeth, pinpricks of blood swell to the surface of Tony’s skin.

It hurts.

Messy, upside down and human; he kisses back.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! comments and critiques always adored. <33
> 
> tumblr post for this fic [[here]](https://starvels.tumblr.com/post/178430345611/)


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